


Guns, Ironing, and Rain-X

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Drinking Games, M/M, Power Outage, Snowed In, inappropriate gift-giving, safe house, wood stove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29813505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: Eames’ Stupid Cupid 2021!Prompt: Champagne, Cuddling, ConfessionsArthur and Eames play a little drinking game Arthur calls Kiss or Confess. To his utter surprise, confessions happen... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2021





	Guns, Ironing, and Rain-X

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wali21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wali21/gifts).



Eames tossed another log in the wood stove when Arthur got up to retrieve a fresh bottle from the snow outside. When Arthur returned, Eames shamelessly prodded him into the corner of the sofa to use as a backrest.

“No one I’d rather be with during a power outage in a snowstorm,” Eames said as he settled between Arthur’s thighs comfortably, laying his head back against Arthur’s shoulder. “And no one else I know would stock a safe house with excellent champagne.”

Arthur shrugged, a little smile playing about his mouth. “Reaching a safe house seems like a perfectly acceptable reason to celebrate.”

Eames turned his head to flash him an affectionate grin and Arthur took a sip and sternly resisted the stupid soft feeling flooding his chest cavity. “Your turn,” he muttered.

“Oh is it? Hmm, let’s see now. Well, I’ve never actually liked that brown suit of yours, my darling.”

Arthur coughed briefly as a little champagne threatened to go down the wrong way. “You love that suit. You wrote terrible poetry about it during the Linden job.” He squeezed his thighs threateningly around Eames’ waist, and tried to resist the flash of arousal as Eames laughed and squirmed against him. There wasn’t much doubt that they’d end up in bed, they almost always did, but dammit, it’d be on Arthur’s terms this time, not just giving in to Eames’ considerable charm.

“I loved your _arse_ in those trousers, but that clay color with the yellow check pattern...just no, petal.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That’s not a real confession, you prick. Try again.”

“It counts! I confessed something!”

Eames’ manufactured outrage made Arthur want to giggle into his champagne flute, but he managed a snicker instead, thankfully. Hah! No sense letting the most dangerous con man in his life know exactly how tipsy he probably was.

“You said that out loud,” Eames snorted.

“I did not!”

“Did.”

“Not!”

“Arthur, you said ‘Hah!’ right in my ear.”

“Oh.” Arthur scowled, then brightened. “Just hah, though?”

“Yeah.” After a pause, Eames half-turned. “Wait, was there more?”

“Hah!”

“Hmm. I don’t think you’re drunk enough. Have another sip and then it’s your turn.”

“It’s not my turn, because I don’t believe you about the brown suit.”

Eames sat up. “You think I’m lying during a sacred game of Truth or Dare?”

“It’s Kiss or Confess.”

“This is me valiantly restraining an eyeroll, darling....”

“Which wasn’t in any way restrained. Did you give yourself a headache with that one?”

“...and anyway, I can _prove_ to you that I don’t like that suit.”

Arthur was smirking as he lifted his glass, then paused. “...does this involve damaging said suit in any way?” Eames beamed at him and Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I dare you.”

“Hah!” Eames threw himself off the sofa and bounced into the bedroom, emerging a few moments later holding the brown suit aloft, rolled messily into a bundle, like a triumphant gladiator. “Death and destruction to the dun menace!” he shouted.

Arthur sat up straight on the sofa. “You wouldn’t,” he hissed.

Eames grinned diabolically and flung open the door of the wood stove, waggling his eyebrows at Arthur.

“You’re bluffing,” Arthur said incredulously.

Eames tossed the bundle into the wood stove, where it promptly burst into flame.

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you burned that suit.” He burst out laughing. “Jesus fucking christ, Eames, you just tossed a bespoke suit into the fire.”

“A much more honorable end than that monstrosity deserved.” Eames sauntered over and dropped back into a sprawl at the opposite end of the sofa. He nudged Arthur with a toe clad in a blue and green striped woolen sock. “Your turn.”

Arthur snickered. “This one’ll be easy. I confess that I hated that suit too. Dom bought it for me as a birthday present and I had to wear it occasionally or hurt his feelings.”

Eames shouted a laugh. “No!”

“Yep.” Arthur grinned happily. “But now I can tell him that _you_ destroyed it...” He crawled over to sprawl atop Eames, rubbing the tip of his nose against Eames’.

Eames grinned back helplessly, pulling Arthur closer. “You are the most evil, manipulative, point man I know.”

“Damn straight. And it’s your turn again. Kiss or Confess?”

Eames reached up and traced Arthur’s mouth. “The last time we played Truth or Dare...”

“Kiss or Confess.”

“...right, because you have this strange toffee-nosed hangup about playing drinking games, but if we call them something else, you’ll actually play them...”

“Kiss or Confess has far better alliteration.”

“I think you mean assonance.”

Arthur burst out laughing. “Made you say ‘ass’.” On reflection, maybe he was drunker than he’d calculated.

Eames tried to hold on to a shred of righteous indignation but ended up chuckling. “Dammit, Arthur,” he said fondly. “My whole point was, as much as I _want_ to kiss you, if I do, the game won’t last past the second or third kiss. At best.”

“Yep.” Arthur smirked. “Which is the best result that could be hoped for.”

Eames tucked his hands behind his head. “It could be argued that games like this are for getting to know each other better.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “I already know everything about you.”

“We might have to agree to disagree about that, petal, but...”

“Eames, do you seriously think I didn’t research everything I could find on you?”

“...fair point. But I passed, yeah?”

“What do you mean, ‘passed’?”

“Well, you let me stay in your safe houses with you. You have eye-crossingly good sex with me. And, most important,” Eames waved his hand in a flourish, “you let me keep weapons to hand around you. Which means you trust me. In one way or another.” Eames gave him that crooked wry smile that defined his relaxed and unguarded moments.

Arthur’s heart beat a little faster as he searched for a distraction. He pushed himself up to sit astride Eames’ hips and crossed his arms. “Are we done playing drinking games, Eames?” He tried for a light tone, but he was afraid he hadn’t quite managed it.

“Arthur...” Eames’ tone was cautious but warm and deep and sent a shiver through his belly. “Petal, are we going to keep up this silly dance? I’m trying to confess my feelings for you.”

Arthur hunched a little and looked away. “Can I confess that I don’t really want to have this conversation?” He reached for his champagne and downed most of the glass in one swig.

“Oh Arthur...” Eames bit his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, pet, I thought we both felt...something...for each other. It’s all right if...”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Eames, of course I do, I really do, but you have this reputation and you’ve played around in the past and what would lead me to think you were serious?” Arthur huffed in exasperation. “And I’m not good at _saying_ things. You’re so clever and perceptive, I thought I was showing you all along.”

“...how? By not stabbing me when I tease you?”

“I clean your guns all the time! I iron your shirts! I put Rain-X on the rental car windshields!”

“Arthur,” Eames said slowly, “Are you telling me your love language is _domesticity?”_

Arthur stared at him and then reached for a gun stored in the coffee table.

Eames barked a laugh, grabbing him. “No, no, love, that won’t be necessary.” He flipped them so he was holding Arthur against the sofa with his bodyweight and grinned ferally down at him. “So we’ve reached the foreplay portion of the evening?”

Arthur struggled half-heartedly, glaring up at him. “I thought we were confessing feelings,” he growled.

Eames chortled. “Arthur, my darling, I’ve gone and fallen in love with you. Tell me you love me back and then we can move on to the mostly non-verbal activities.”

Arthur snarled and snapped and Eames braced a forearm across his throat in warning, still grinning fiercely.

“Fine, I love you, dammit! Okay? Now let me up, you bastard!”

“My god, that’s practically Shakespeare from you.” Eames leaned down and kissed him until Arthur gave in and wound his fingers in Eames’ hair and held on. “Poor romantic sap,” he murmured against Arthur’s mouth. “Nothing for it but to give you anything you desire.”

There was a pause, and then Arthur pulled away slightly. “Anything?”

Eames groaned and dropped his forehead to rest against Arthur’s collarbone. “I am utterly head over heels for you, you git, and you’re about to take advantage of me?”

“Eames.” Arthur tugged on Eames’ ear until he lifted his head. “You’ll like this,” he said with a wicked smirk.

“Oh?”

“I need you...”

“Heh heh, of course you do.”

“...to destroy every hideous, inappropriate, gift Dom has ever foisted on me.” Arthur’s eyes sparkled with anticipatory glee. “Free me of the guilt-laden burdens of the internet gift guide addict. Burn them, pulverize them, rend them to their constituent atoms, and I will love you forever.”

Eames stared at him, his grin widening, his eyes reflecting the glow from the merrily burning wood stove. “Arthur,” he breathed, “I should have known that your true love language involved violence.”

“Yes, you should have. Are we agreed? A trail of messy destruction in exchange for undying devotion?”

“Darling, I love you.”

Arthur smirked. “I know.”


End file.
